


{ The Late Train; }

by WrinkledParchment



Category: Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018)
Genre: Dark, Death, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrinkledParchment/pseuds/WrinkledParchment
Summary: You catch the 8:30 train every night to comfort Stefan, to listen to him, to be there for him. But when he needs you the most, you end up having to catch the late train.





	{ The Late Train; }

[ You promised me, (Name). You promised. ]

“Stefan, you need to start getting out of the house. You need to socialize, and, I dunno, eat?” You heard your boyfriend’s muffled groan on the other side of the phone, muttering something about poison in the food.

“I know, [Name]. Dad’s out of Sugar Puffs again, I’ll just have that for a snack after he gets it from the supermarket,” Stefan argued, and predicted what was to come.

“Stefan, you are killing yourself here. Eat, or I will march over there on foot and force that goddamn cereal down your throat myself,” you huffed, and Stefan chuckled into the phone. “I know you’re shy, Stefan, but if you need anything from me, anything at all, I will take a train over.”

“You don’t need to do that, (Name). Hearing your voice is enough,” Stefan murmured, just loud enough, just clear enough that you could hear, and as much as he wished to stop there, to stop you from putting in the extra trouble, his blabbering mouth continued.

“I wish you could be here, though. You’re so warm, and cuddly, and I love to hear your laugh … It’s so cute and I jus-“ but he paused in the middle, clenching his fist around the phone as he cursed himself for saying too much.

A small giggle, albeit distorted, was received by Stefan, and he joined in. He heard you sigh right after, before some shuffling was heard. “Fine, love, I’m coming over. Just this once, and only because I love you.”

Stefan hummed, satisfied and prepared to be endowed with your familiar presence. He smiled to himself. “Thanks, love. What train are you taking?” he asked, curiously. He glanced at the clock, scanning the hands. 8:15. He let out a breath, relieved.

“I’ll be taking the 8:30, I guess. I know you’ll be worried about me but I’ve got keys between my knuckles, so I’ll be fine.” Hearing the unamused noise over the line, you allowed yourself to reassure him. “I promise.”

“Just,” Stefan breathed in quickly, “come quick, love. I’ll be waiting. Goodbye.”

“It’s not a ‘goodbye’, it’s a ‘see you soon’. Because I will be there. I promise, Stefan. I won’t be late,” you stated. Muttering another farewell, you hung up, grabbed some cash, and walked to the nearby train station.

You sat down, grabbing your Walkman and popping in a mixtape that Stefan had given you. You smiled at the memory of him faintly bobbing his head to the beat, the only time the boy even moved to music. The poor man was afraid of ridicule for being a terrible dancer, even if it was all in good fun.

And all the sudden … you arrived. You hopped off the train and began walking to Stefan’s house, luckily knowing where it was without having to even look up. It was quite easy to spot, after all, the house was engrained into your memory.

You’d heard and seen it all: being called by Stefan’s worried dad who didn’t know what to do, being called by Stefan himself, and you’d even been called by Stefan’s therapist just so she could make sure she knew what was going on.

Every time, over the past few months, you came here. You sat down with Stefan’s dad, you chatted with his therapist, and held Stefan close. You forced him to eat, to take care of himself, and you even tried to cease his descent into madness. Alas … it didn’t do much.

You knocked on the door and Stefan rushed over, opening the door and nearly banging the wall, almost tripping over a few things. He was a nervous, fumbling mess, and you knew why.

Stefan could never handle the thought of you getting on a train. Derailings were very uncommon, very unlikely, and highly improbable. It didn’t stop him from worrying on and on about it. So you let him fall into your arms again, and held him.

“Stefan,” you muttered into his unruly, curly, unbrushed hair, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, love. I won’t leave you, ever, I promise.” You closed your eyes as the sobs echoed on the stone of the porch, allowing him to let it all out.

If only you could mend the broken pieces, you would. His heart was a mosaic and it was a complicated design, but if you needed to study it for years, and try to do it justice forever, you would. You loved him, after all.

This became routine, Stefan calling and begging for you to come over just at 8:15, you obliging and catching the 8:30 train, and holding him as he cried. Occasionally listening to his conspiracy rants, helping him organize his desk, and hand-feeding him sugar puffs.

Just as that became routine, so did you checking your bank account, hoping to find opportunities to make some side-cash so you could afford visiting him every other night. So did your parents scowling at you, making snide comments about how the man should be taking care of the lady, and not the other way around.

You brushed it off, but looking over your bank statement, you knew that you couldn’t do this anymore. You loved him, you really did, so very much, but this was not working out. It took a toll on your own health, your own well-being, and your other relationships.

So, as you took a deep breath, you answered the usual ringing of the phone after dark. You expected to hear a Stefan that would ask gently for you to come over, telling you it was the last time, but instead, you were met with … silence.

“Stefan?” you questioned, and you heard a harsh breath being blown out. Something was wrong, more wrong than it had been since this all started. There were a few more, over and over. You could picture him inhale, and exhale.

“I-I … I need you,” he breathed, and something about that statement hit you right in the heart. There was no way you could deny him this time.

“What is it, Stefan?” you asked, and another exhale was heard. Your nerves were frantic, and you attempted to gather your things while still listening to him. You would try to be on with him as long as possible.

“It’s … It’s been a rough week. It’s all crashing down, (Name). I just- I just need you, I need you here, with me. I feel like it’s all tumbling down, and sometimes, I just- how did I manage without you?

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. And, I love you, (Name). I know this has been rough on you, and you don’t have to come- oh god, I’ve been bugging you. I should- I should just hang up, now shouldn’t I? I don’t mean to annoy you, it’s just been so rough and I-“

“Stefan,” you interrupted gently. “Breathe, darling, breathe. I’ll be right over. You’ve got this, love. I’m always going to be right by your side. I’ll be there soon, but- breathe. And wait for me.”

“I love you so much, (Name).”

“I love you more, Stefan. I’m coming.”

You hung up, quickly stepping into your sneakers, ignoring the untied laces and racing out the door. You checked your watch, 8:20. Oh god, you were going to be late. This prompted you to run even quicker, your small purse getting tossed around and-

Ouch. You’d tripped on your shoelace, though you’d caught yourself with your hands. They were only a little scratched up, not bleeding, but then, you lifted your gaze. The contents of your purse were spilled all over the sidewalk.

You began frantically stuffing everything back in, checking for the cash, making sure you had something to pay for the ticket. You did. You had everything. Thank whatever higher power. You picked yourself back up, tying your shoelaces, and continuing your journey to the train station.

You glanced down to your watch quickly, jaw clenched as your feet screeched to a halt, and staring up at the tracks. Your train was gone, and it was 8:33. You closed your eyes as you breathed out a frustrated sigh, and you quickly went over to buy a new ticket for the 8:45 train.

Stefan settled down, allowing himself a minute to breathe and rest. He felt relieved. You were going to be here, you were going to hold him, and he could get lost in you. He could wrap his arms around you and feel your skin against his.

He would be able to brush his hands through your hair, and you would do the same. And he would bury his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt. He would finally be content, at home, at peace.

So, he smiled to himself. He thought about all his moments with you, he thought about your smile and your laugh. He thought about how happy you made him. And he heard his name called from downstairs.

He looked at the clock, 8:50. You should be here by now. You were a 20-minute train ride away. You should be knocking on his front door now. Maybe his dad was calling because you were here. So he trudged down the steps.

The TV was blaring, his dad focused in on it. The imagery of a train flashed, and Stefan’s eyes scanned it. Another train had derailed. That was the 8:45. You always, always took the 8:30. You must have just been late. You took the 8:30, Stefan knows you did.

“Did she take that train?” Stefan’s dad asked.

Stefan shook his head no, “I don’t think she did. She always takes the 8:30.” But he gasped as they said your name. You were on that train.

He was still, unmoving for a few seconds, before dropping to his knees. He stared at the TV, at the picture of you, pronounced dead. His ears rung, his vision slowly fading and every moment with you flashed before his eyes.

His eyes clouded with tears, only a few shedding before the vision of the TV was blocked by his dad, rushing to his side, hugging him as they both sobbed. There’s a certain hole you’d managed to fill, only to be ripped out again and twice the size.

So he ragdolled, letting his arms drop to his sides and every muscle in his body to go limp before he screamed. His head throbbed in pain, his vocal cords were raw and his heart wasn’t any less torn. But he continued until there was no air left. And he let himself fade into the black.

[ I won’t leave you, ever, I promise. ]

Stefan uncaringly glanced into the mirror, staring at his black suit. He swallowed thickly, and looked away before placing his game into a box, and attaching a note to it. He left the room, watching the sunrise and walked with his dad to the car.

He gazed numbly out the window, his eyes were hollow and he shut the door harshly when he arrived. There was no grief left, no confusion as to what he would do without you. Because he knew. So he stood, hands by his side and no tears down his face, looking at your closed casket, though his dad was staring worriedly at him. 

He brushed it off, but he couldn’t shake off the harsh glares sent to him by your parents. At least he finally agreed with them on something. That your death was his fault.

You didn’t have to get on that train, you didn’t have to pay him a visit. He could’ve survived without you there, he always had managed that. He got caught up in the pleasant feeling of you, and couldn’t get enough.

He forced you to get on that train. You wouldn’t have been on it if it weren’t for him. The irony of it all seeped in; the 8:45 train, the derailing, his involvement. And he knew that everything he touched, no matter how beautiful, he destroyed.

[ How did I manage without you? ] | { I didn’t. }

It was time to end the cycle. After the funeral service, which ceased at, ironically, 8:30, he walked to the train station. He watched the train as the 8:45 train skidded down the very tracks he was standing on, and he waited patiently … he yearned to be with you again.

Finally, he couldn’t destroy anything. Finally, he was with you again. Finally, he was free.

[ You promised. ]


End file.
